I wonder will tides ebb and flow—such dear vapors, according to deeds … souls in midair, trying as we live.
Amazed by it. (It doesn’t matter much.)
Wisdom becomes ineffectual; years become driven. (As the Invisibility ushers.)
One is according to tragedy: one included the other.
In resounding in silence, brooding with season, smiling, nonetheless.
I wonder will tides ebb and flow, will billows profess truths? Such between souls, such becomes souls.
In earnest, we seduce ourselves.
